Best Choice Made
by SeeingWarriors
Summary: Loki wakes on Svartelfhiem and decides what he wants to do, and who he is choosing to be. Picks up after Thor Leaves to fight Malekith.


Cold wind has a terrible bite to it here, it positively stings all it touches. Loki becomes aware of that sting first, the terrible bite to his face. His chest aches but he hardly feels it. His mind racing for an answer for where he was and why he hurt so much.

He forces his eyes open, looking through the sand on his lashes to see the ground he lies on. There wasn't much to go on, just rocks and dirt and blood. He clinches his fingers on one hand then the other. So those were still there. That is a relief, a knife thrower without hands or fingers is a useless knife thrower. But what was he saying he already was useless.

He let his body fall back to the ground, they had left him here. He closes his eyes, choosing to believe that them watering was just a reaction to the sand. They had left him because he was useless, now that Malekith had the stone. But Thor would stop him, of course he would, he was the hero and Loki was the villain. He chuckled a little, the pain in his chest flaring at the movement. He and Thor were always meant for heaven and hell, it was never a question of who was going were.

Loki snaps his eyes open, he was meant for hell, he always had been. It was what he was and he was going to be worthy of it. He chuckled again, he would be the best chose hell had ever made.

He slips a hand to his chest, trying to feel how much damage had been done. The wound is open and he flinches as his unsteady hand hits it. Holding his breath he pushes his hand along the wound. It's long and frighteningly deep. He begins to choke coughing up blood, his chest screams at the movement. He squeezes eyes shut before he too screams. Drawling a slow breath he decides to not worry about how bad it is and just get out of this place. He places his hand back on his chest and tries to think of how to do this. His magic is still in him he can feel it, but only barely. It's as weak and exhausted as he is. Still he calls on it to numb his chest, his fingers spreading out over the injury. The magic flows from his fingers, slow and disorientated. The green, a usually vibrant color, looks more like it is sick then than anything else. Still it slips under his blood stained shirt, to seep into his body. Loki winces as the feeling, then it disappears as the magic does its work. He's body goes numb so much so that he can no longer feel if his body is in one piece.

He drops his hand, gasping. He can't move for a moment as he tries to catch a breath. His eyes slip close on their own an overwhelming sense of exhaustion blocking out everything. He's shaking and he can't remember when that started. He can't remember much of anything, the weight of his body too much to move. The weight of his head too much to think.

He jolts awake at the sound of lightening cracking in the distance. When had he fallen asleep he can't remember it. The pain in his chest is gone, and he woke up, so what does it matter. He pushes a hand underneath himself and forces his body up. He sits there staring off at the mountains and the storm growing above them. He blinks once and comes back to himself. He steadies himself and reaches a hand up to clear the sand from his face. He blinks again then rolls to the side to get a foot under him. Bracing it he pushes up, throwing a hand out to not fall face first back to the ground. He leaves his hand out his fingertips brushing the surface for a moment longer. Then he stands the rest of the way up, stumbling and feeling like his head is spinning. He hunches over, trying not to throw up. Time is meaningless a long moment as he stands there waiting for the feeling to pass.

The ground slowly comes into focus, as the world stops spinning. Loki puts his hands on his knees forcing his head up. He looks around a moment, the place is boring but beautiful. However, the site that is truly beautiful is the skiff he sees just a few feet from him. He smiles. Now he could get back to Asgard and get a little revenge. He had been locked up and ignored by the people who are supposed to love him. That would not change but after he was done with them the thought wouldn't sting anymore.

He looks back to the skiff, he was right it was only a few feet from him, but for all he could move it mine as well have been a mile. He grabs the side of his coat drawling it around him, he slides a foot forward. He shifts his weight on to that foot and slowly moves forward on to it. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

This is ridiculous he thinks, it's just walking I can do that just fine. All you have to do is get to the skiff.

He's third step forward and he's falling, he throws a hand up but his arm is too weak and he falls face first into the ground anyway. He curses and struggles to sit up. The skiff is beginning to look even farther away. He curses again, his eyes watering threatening to betray just how weak he is. The thought only drives the tears closer, the relentless shaking in his body turns to sobs.

Why was he even trying? He was a failure, a bad idea that wasn't even completed. He should be dead, the universe would be better without him. He chuckles deep in his throat. Yes it would be better with him dead. Just how lucky did you have to be to have the whole universe hate you because you aren't supposed to be here. How lucky were you to have the universe as your enemy to destroy. And he would destroy it, that's why he was trying. He would set the fire that will bring the universe to its knees.

He swings a leg up, puts his hand on his knee and heaves up to stand. He was a failure at trying to do the right thing, however he was fairly certain he will be very good at doing the wrong thing. His smile grows his eyes finally lighting up with the challenge in front of him, it will be fun.

He forces a foot in front of him, he knows that Asgard has to be the place to start, but he is looking forward to meeting the Avengers again. His weight leaned on to that foot he slides his other one out. He had thought to just kill them but after his year in that spit worthy cell he thinks he'll give them their own cell. His foot hits a rock and he stumbles this time he doesn't fall. He thinks he'll put Thor in the cell he was put in, and have all his precious friends put around him. He straightens up and puts a foot out once more the movement getting easier. No, maybe he should split them up. Yes he'll do that, after all he was all alone, they should have to suffer that too. One, two more steps, his body shakes with the strain of walking and the cold. He's sweating making him even more cold the wind not taking any mercy on him. The only question that still remains is the most important. The point that will really be fun. Crushing those Avengers spirits in their tiny cells would work, just as it had on him. The real problem was what to do with Odin. He reaches out a hand grasping the edge of the skiffs moments before he would fall. Yes, what to do with Odin. Prison wouldn't work that wouldn't break him, he's been king too long. He knows what it is to not get what you want. Loki grabs the edge with both hands, bringing his chin up to rest on it. What would really work is to take what Odin sacrificed for away. Thor would work a little on that front, but while Odin always loved him and not Loki. Loki knew enough to know Odin doesn't count Thor his pride and joy. He walks along to the back of the skiff using the edge to keep upright. No, what Odin truly loves is Asgard, that's what Loki needs to take away. Plus that will help start the fire, Asgard burning will spread to the other realms, and he'll have a perfect little bonfire to watch. He drags himself into the skiff and up to the controls. The skiff starts just like it should. Now if everything does that this will be easy, he thinks. But he knows, even as he flies through the air back to the portal, the same with all of his lies to himself, his luck isn't that good.


End file.
